Sam led his father to the shed at the rear of the house. They stood aside as members of the Black Company carried their equipment back out to the street in preparation for their return to base. By the time Sam reached the door to the shed, Freddie and his uncle, apparently having rushed their supper, joined them. Sam made introductions.
“Sir, this is Freddie and his Uncle Charles. This is my Dad, he’s—um—”
“Just call me Cedric. It appears you have been caring for my wayward son, for which I thank you.”
They entered the shed, and Sam proudly showed his father all the equipment and the plans for the scale replica Spitfire. Freddie helped whenever Sam ran out of breath. Between the two, Cedric 33rd received a complete if somewhat chaotic briefing. Freddie’s uncle confirmed the details.
“Yes, it’ll be a fully airworthy, radio controlled, one-third scale replica of a Spitfire. I need to decide which engine to install, which is a decision I’ll make later. I could modify the design and include controls for a small pilot, someone Sam’s size, if he wants to have one built. My first task is to produce computer designs based on the plans; however, I need to clear some work space first.”
“And it will fly when you have finished?”
“Oh yes, it’ll be airworthy. This is a popular kit and I’ve seen some in flight. Although this one will be radio controlled, not with a live pilot.”
“How difficult would it be to build more than one?”
“Once I have the computer templates for the first one, it would be straightforward. I plan on making templates for the fuselage and wing moulds first, and they’ll be re-usable. I’ll purchase some of the components pre-assembled, which makes it easier for me. When I get to the build stage, I’ll use composite materials such as carbon fibres and Kevlon—of course with various aviation grade epoxies, instead of traditional wood and aluminium—for the wings and bodywork. The result will be very strong and light. All this will happen when I can afford to buy the materials.”
“Interesting. Do you mind if I look around?”
“Why no, not at all—I’ll show you.”
Cedric 33rd continued to ask questions as Freddie’s Uncle Charles showed him around the large shed with all of its equipment. Sam and Freddie stayed back, out of the way of the adults.
“You owe me an explanation,” threatened Freddie.
“I suppose. Although I didn't expect such a response. I was concerned when I heard Cats were coming around. They’re dangerous; we’re in a state of undeclared war, and they won’t agree to any peace terms.”
Charles and Sam’s father completed their tour and re-joined Sam and Freddie before he could explore his friend’s startling comments. “And I understand my son has been studying and assisting with your homework?” he asked Freddie.
“Yes, sir. He’s coaching me, which is helping my grades.”
“What level—?”
Freddie’s uncle answered. “We hope Freddie will be ready for University next year. While he’s very young, he’s years ahead of his age group and his school agreed to accelerate his progress through senior school. Freddie’ll be eight next month, and most of his classmates are seventeen or eighteen.” He was proud of his nephew.
Cedric 33rd looked at his young son. “And you’ve been coaching Freddie? And studying for your pilot certification? And programming, I hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I am surprised. Perhaps you can study and pass exams, after all.”
“I intend to, sir. I need to certify so I’ll be the first pilot in our Rat Air Force.”
***
Chapter 10
Freddie’s Uncle Charles did not have enough money to immediately construct his scale Spitfire, and he was at first reluctant to accept either money or materials from Sam or from his father. It required all of Cedric’s diplomacy and negotiation skills to overcome this reluctance.
“Charles,” said Cedric, for they were now on friendly first name terms, “I would like to do two things. Firstly, you have been responsible for housing that young rogue of mine, and I daresay he has eaten everything Freddie’s mother can cook. So, while I understand your reluctance, I would like to make a contribution to household expenses. Spend it on gifts for Freddie’s mother if you like. Secondly—and this is more serious—if Sam is to develop his air force concept, I would like to assist him by accelerating construction of your aircraft, so we can use it as a basis for the others which he wants to build. I can assist you.”
“I understand. Yes, a small gift for Freddie’s mother would be ample reward, although your son doesn’t eat nearly as much as our Freddie.” He paused. “This is my hobby, not a business. I enjoy the slower deliberation, as it were, of it not being a business. I work all day in a commercial laboratory, developing carbon-50-based composite materials, and the weekends provide a way for me to relax, away from work pressures.”
Cedric’s eyes twinkled. “I told you before, I’ve the ideal solution. Make your decision—work for me. My people are very impressed. Your research is very well-founded, and your use of composite materials is far in advance of what we’ve been able to achieve. Yesterday, we purchased the garage next door, and the building will be emptied by the weekend. We’ll convert it into a small assembly unit. My people will work there, and won’t interfere with your workshop or tools. They’ll make far less noise than the garage did, at least until they start testing engines, and I think we may do those more noisy tasks somewhere else. My team will share test results and exchange ideas with you. It’ll give excellent motivation to Sam. This will mean you can continue to build your model as a hobby. In return, I ask only that you guide some of my engineering team in the materials and techniques you plan to use and share the results of your construction process.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about your offer. I suspect my young nephew will also benefit from all this. Yes, I’ll work with your team.”
“Excellent. Excellent. I’ll arrange a gift for Freddie’s mother. Next week, I’ll introduce you to my senior engineers; they’re very good and will learn quickly.”
When young Sam and Freddie heard the news, their excitement almost overflowed, and Freddie’s mother cautioned them.
“I won’t have you neglecting your school work, Freddie. Nor you, Sam. Yes, I know it’s exciting. Just remember, first things first.” Freddie’s mother waved a large wooden spoon in the air. Not even Cedric’s gift distracted her from Freddie’s need to do homework. She had met the kitchen designers earlier and looked forward to the makeover of her kitchen with the promised new cabinets, cookers, and kitchen equipment.
The two young friends rushed to assure her that, of course, school and homework were the most important things on their minds. Freddie was close to his senior year final exams, while Sam was over halfway through his studies for his pilot license and was almost ready to start flying lessons.
However, the problem the young Rat next encountered seemed insurmountable. Sam and Freddie had visited nearby flying schools, and all the aircraft they had inspected were designed for full-sized humans and neither New Rats nor young boys were tall enough to both see out the cockpit and reach the foot-controlled rudder and brakes at the same time. Sam was despondent for days. Freddie carried on researching.
“I found it,” he exclaimed late one Saturday evening. “Look. These light sports aircraft are fitted with hand controls. There are no pedals, no foot controls, only hand controls, just like your military vehicles. Also, they aren’t as expensive to run so the training costs are lower—which will please Mum. There’s a sports aircraft-based flying school close to us, as well. Sam, this solves our problem.” They both studied the details on the manufacturer’s web site and then checked out the nearby flying school, until at last Freddie’s mother chased them both off to bed.
Sam, Freddie, Charles, and Cedric 33rd visited the flying school the following weekend, to inspect the facilities and to check the smaller training aircraft. They formed an incongruous
group together with six uniformed and armed members of the Royal Guard. A further three platoons of both Black and Green Guards had been deployed outside the flight school premises.
After an hour or so examining the training rooms and aircraft, Cedric 33rd and Charles were suitably impressed with the facilities. Sam grew more and more excited as he and Freddie sat in an aircraft and experimented with the hand controls and confirmed the suitability of the small, sleek aircraft.
However, a significant issue arose when the senior training instructor said he was not convinced the two eager candidates could actually fly the school’s aircraft.
“Yes,” he confirmed, “I’ve seen the television reports about intelligent rod—rats. No, they don’t worry me, at all. However, he’s—er—not yet two feet tall,” he objected, trying to avoid eye contact with any of the visitors. A bead of perspiration formed above his right temple. “No, I don’t think we can help.”
The instructor was unhelpful until Charles spoke up. “We’d like to meet with the owner. We may want to arrange flying lessons for a number of pupils.”
After some delaying discussions, the instructor finally was persuaded to introduce them to the school’s owner. In the meantime, while they waited, Cedric 33rd and Charles plotted quietly together. When the owner joined them in the small lobby, Charles led the conversation.
“We want to book flying lessons, and of course, theory lessons, for our youngsters. We’ve looked at your private license course syllabus and costs, and think the course is what we need and the costs are reasonable. My nephew will start flight training on weekends, as soon as can be arranged. Also, young Sam will start your full-time course, also as soon as can be arranged. When he completes his course, we want to start a group of fifteen students, studying full-time, and after they’ve completed their training, we may have similar groups starting every six months. Also, we have requirements for substantial flying hours for each pupil, after they’ve gained their licenses.” He shrugged. “However, we’ve encountered a significant issue. Your senior instructor doesn’t seem willing to help us.”
“But—but—he—they’re far too small,” protested the senior instructor, who had been listening. He was unwilling to admit he was biased against training what he assumed to be just freakish animals, notwithstanding recent documentaries and high level interviews with politicians and academics on television praising and encouraging integration of intelligent New Rats into human society. He also thought Freddie was far too young. He was unwilling to admit Cedric and his son Sam were as intelligent as he was, if not more so. The presence of armed guards was also worrying.
Charles looked at the owner. “Do you agree with him? Or do you want a training contract?”
The owner, a balding man in his fifties, looked at his chief instructor and then back at Charles. “I really need to discuss—”
Charles interrupted without apology. “Your investors may not be very pleased if they hear you’re turning away good business.”
“A valid point, I admit.” He shrugged. “As you see, I have a problem.”
“Simple to solve,” interjected Cedric 33rd. “We’ll agree to other instructors, if you can arrange them. Or I can buy you out. If I do, there’ll be personnel changes.”
The chief instructor looked thunderous. “Now look here—!”
“Harry, take a break. I’ll look after this. Tell Hassaway I want to see him.” The owner looked apologetically at Charles and Cedric 33rd as the chief instructor walked off, his back stiff. “I’ll work through his issues, later. We can do business. Hassaway is younger and far more capable of coping with issues likely to arise while training small ani—pilots.”
“Good. We like the aircraft, and the use of hand controls is very practical,” confirmed Charles. “You have just what we need.”
“The regulations may pose a problem, though,” cautioned the owner. “Student pilots need to be of a minimum age, for example.”
Cedric 33rd handed an envelope to the owner. “I investigated those issues, and this is a Civil Air dispensation. It’s been countersigned by the Attorney-General, to validate its legality.”
The flight school owner extracted the letter, his eyes opening wider as he read its contents. “You certainly know how to resolve issues, sir.” He looked up as a young flight instructor approached. “Aah—Hassaway—I want you to meet these people. They’re asking us to train these young lads, one full-time, and one weekends only,” he indicated Sam and Freddie in turn, “and then groups of probably fifteen or so every six months. I want you to take charge of their program.”
“I’ll enjoy the challenges, sir,” the young instructor smiled. His delight was genuine. He looked at young Sam. “When can you start?”
Commencing the following day Sam spent every morning at the flying school and every afternoon working with Charles in the converted garage next door to Freddie’s home. In the evenings, he coached Freddie with his homework. When they finished the homework, they both reviewed Sam’s theory lessons from the flying school. Freddie, with a lot of effort, managed to keep up with Sam without falling behind in his classroom studies.
At the end of three months, Sam and Freddie were ready to sit their theory examination using the school’s computer-based links to the aviation examining authority. When they finished answering all the online questions, they waited anxiously in the lobby area. At last, Hassaway came bounding out of the office waving the result sheets. “Look,” he cried, “you both passed. No errors at all. Congratulations. Very well done.”
Neither Sam nor Freddie could concentrate that afternoon, and eventually Charles pushed them out of his shed. “Come back when you both settle down. I know you’re excited. However, there’s no reason for you, Sam, to spill a jar of epoxy resin onto a roll of very expensive Kevlon fabric. Now go. Go!”
***
Chapter 11
Every afternoon, Sam worked with Charles, preparing to build an airplane, while Freddie attended school. They first had emptied the shed of its treasured models, carefully packing them away in cartons, in order to clear space for the planned construction. Their next task was to clean the shed until it was spotless. Freddie also spent an hour or two each day assisting with the clean-up. Charles, when he was satisfied with the state of his shed, ordered his new computer and software. At the same time he coached the Rats in the workshop next door, and they too cleared and cleaned their building until it was spotless, after which Charles helped them purchase their equipment.
At Sam’s suggestion, Charles had agreed to use some of the Rat’s equipment instead of purchasing his own—which in addition to the material provided by Cedric 33rd, accelerated his construction program.
Sometimes Freddie was envious because Sam was able to spend more time helping Uncle Charles while he, Freddie, had to continue with his schooling. However he was mature enough to realize that if he did not apply himself to his school work he would fail his self-imposed study program. Every day when he arrived home from school, construction of the Spitfire model was further advanced. The mould designs for the wings, fuselage, rudder, flaps, and ailerons were quickly finalized, and the resulting program files were handed across to the garage team for the milling process.
At last Charles was ready to use the wing moulds produced by the New Rat team, which would shape top and bottom sections of each wing. Charles commenced with the left upper wing section, and carefully checked to confirm the flexible top membrane would form a complete vacuum over the fixed mould. When he was satisfied, he applied thin sheets of fiberglass, carbon-50, and Kevlon onto the fixed mould, carefully applying the necessary mix of epoxy resins to each layer of material. Finally he attached the top membrane and started the vacuum pump.
Everyone—the Rat team, Sam, Freddie, and Cedric 33rd—watched with interest as the membrane slowly collapsed onto the composite material, forcing it to hold shape. When the vacuum pump completed the air extraction process, Charles instructed the New Rat team to roll the stan
d carrying the composite mould and membrane with its sandwich filling of epoxied material into the curing oven.
After forty-eight hours, Charles directed the Rat team to remove the mould from the curing oven, and when it cooled he unsealed the vacuum and slowly lifted off the membrane. He painstakingly inspected every inch of the formed and cured composite wing section, looking for flaws. He directed the Rat team to carry out the same inspection as part of their training. Eventually, he was satisfied there were no flaws in the wing section and he showed the team how to lift it off the mould and place it on an air-drying rack to finish curing. He would inspect the finished product again, once it had cured for a week, checking for material inconsistencies, bubbles, and other flaws.
“Yes, it’s a manual process,” Charles confirmed to Cedric, “which is all we need for a single aircraft or even for five, six, or so. If we needed to build hundreds I’d look at automation of both the manufacturing and quality processes.”
“And you think my team will be able to do this?”
“I’ll give them training and they’ll practice. Your team has been very eager and helpful. I’m confident they’ll succeed. Of course, they’ll have wasted batches; I expect some of my batches will fail inspection, too.”
When the components cured and passed their final quality inspections, Charles assembled each wing and then the fuselage, ready to combine them into their final configuration. The entire team, humans and Rats, worked tirelessly to complete the first model, and everyone was pleased as the raw aircraft began to take shape.
Sam came rushing home one Friday just after lunch, full of excitement. Charles put out his hand and stopped Sam from rushing into the garage where the Rat production team was checking the quality of the output from one of their moulding processes. He did not want the young Rat disturbing the team’s concentration, and Freddie was still at school.
Shen Ark: Departure Page 8
